Chapter Text
Music pounds below his feet, and from above, the only area devoid of it seemingly being the floor of his bedroom. Pietro, the self-appointed “life of the party,” had left after that title was taken from him. One too many drinks and one too many mouthy conversations where they all used words to position him as the butt of the joke, made worse by Thor egging them on and cracking the most jokes about the speedster, sent him and his party life packing back to his room. The elevator doors dinged and squeaked as they reeled open.
He stood in the glass box, debating if he should zoom down the hall and to his room or try and find his place on a lower level. A rush of blue filled the elevator as he made a dash for his room, but was cut short less than a second later. His feet staggered over something in the dark, to the point where he would have fallen face-first into the ceramic tile. His trajectory changed from his room to the light switch and back to the esoteric object.
When he flicked the light, Thor’s hammer was all of its annoying glory sat upright at him. The handle felt like an indirect ‘fuck you,’ complete with the gesture and all. Why was it here, on the floor Pietro shared with Peter? He didn’t really know or care to get an answer. He knew he wanted it gone, though. Seeing Thor’s face on his floor would make him do something crazy.
That’s when something close to a moment of idiotic ingenuity hit him, which happened as often as lightning finding its way to a metal rod did—like always. If he could lift the hammer, and effortlessly carry it up—or even fly up—to the top of the roof, quote-unquote “returning” it to Thor, it would make everyone there turn their head. The Asgardian would be left mouth-open as Pietro had every right to what once was Thor’s kingdom.
Pietro, a king. He liked the sound of that and the image of sitting on a throne, making it his own when it was Thor’s seat before his. He wanted to take it from him, but with one pull, his entire fantasy crashed harder than Asgard falling from the sky. He didn’t want to go back to that stupid party anyways. Pietro liked Thor’s silent partner much more than the actual zombie-bait a few floors above.
Well… if he couldn’t move it, he could still mess with it as payback for hitting his foot against it and for Thor’s behavior in general. All these thoughts about being the butt of the joke gave him his second perfect idea.
He undid the belt and buttons to his dress pants, already shoving his disheveled blazer off his shoulders, and his shirt was almost undone from how much he liked to make a show of himself, so ridding himself of that was easy too.
The bulbous metal head of the hammer was the hardest part to fit because of how flat it was. All it took was a little bit of force and strong legs to keep himself at such an angle to let him sit on it with success. Using his strong quadriceps and glutes, he kept himself steady as he slowly sank down the handle of it. He could feel the swirling leather around the grip, the ridges where the thousands-of-years-old cowhide was parted to show the metal underneath, almost like the artificial veins of a thick dick. It stretched him out like anything else, but it was more unforgiving. The benefit of riding this over anything else was that Pietro was in control, from the start to what he knew would be a noisy finish.
His hairy ass reached the cold metal of the brick of Uru, and that’s when he stopped. Pietro had done it, the entire handle of Mjolnir was up his ass, and he couldn’t wait to see Thor’s face when he returned to get it, only to realize what happened as payback.
Then came the ride back to the top, which required a little more work to do correctly. Though, it wasn’t like he could fall over, the hammer wasn’t going anywhere. He lifted himself up at a slower pace and sank down faster once he reached the point where he could bounce down on it. He kept riding it all night, and it didn’t move an inch.